


the hazier days, the brighter sun

by EmAndFandems



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Banter, Canon Compliant, Crowley's Love Language is Acts of Service (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Morning Kisses, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:20:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmAndFandems/pseuds/EmAndFandems
Summary: Every moment is its own present, caught in the amber of late-morning sunshine.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 82
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #04 "A Gift"





	the hazier days, the brighter sun

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Queen's "Let Me In Your Heart Again." Written for SOSH GTA 4. (EDIT: Posting date set after reveal!)  
> CW for food mention.

Mornings are a gentle thing now. Soft light through curtained windows, limbs tangled beneath warm sheets. Crowley is awake but he hasn’t opened his eyes yet. He is breathing deep: the air carries the promise of breakfast, of another day.

“Morning,” murmurs Aziraphale. “I know you’re up, dear.”

“M’not,” says Crowley into the pillow. “How dare you. I am absolutely not up.”

He hears Aziraphale’s huff of quiet laughter. “More’s the pity,” Aziraphale says. “It seems there’s no one around to kiss my forehead, then. And I was so looking forward. But ah well, such is life…”

Crowley pushes up from his facedown position. “Alright,” he grumbles, fighting the smile he knows Aziraphale will see anyway, “yeah, okay, c’mere.”

Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crowley’s waist as he leans in for the desired kiss. “Oh, thank you.” He beams.

“You can’t do this every morning,” Crowley says, like a warning, or a complaint. He’s lying, but Aziraphale won’t call him on it. “Happy now?”

“Yes, you are,” says Aziraphale, pressing a quick kiss to Crowley’s cheek, and he’s right.

“Ugh…” Crowley hides his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. Even his nightshirt smells of old paper. “Angel, you’re impossible.”

He loves it, though, and Aziraphale knows it, so his grip only gets firmer. “Does that mean you won’t give me another—?”

Now  _ that _ is preposterous. Crowley brushes a kiss across Aziraphale’s forehead, and then his cheek, and nose, and jawline, and forehead again for good measure, making a gift of each one, a series of tiny moments of pleasure shared.

“Oh, my dear,” whispers Aziraphale. “My Crowley.”

_ Yours, _ Crowley thinks, and breathes it against Aziraphale’s lips, once, twice, a dozen times between kisses and heartbeats. Every moment is its own present, caught in the amber of late-morning sunshine, as one hand drifts to cup the nape of Crowley’s neck, as black silk is crumpled in the other fist, as a familiar warmth fills the room. Aziraphale tastes like nothing else, something all his own, but all the same kissing him makes Crowley think of certain things. Fresh-baked bread, sometimes, or ripened figs. Apples. Categorizing Aziraphale is a neverending task; Crowley looks forward to undertaking it.

“Did you have plans for today?” Aziraphale says, pulling back just slightly, just enough for Crowley to see his smile.

He kisses it. “Mmm… Isn’t this enough?”

“If you like,” Aziraphale tells him, and oh, isn’t that a lovely thought. If Crowley chooses they can spend all day like this, lazy and comfortable, watching the sun spread shadows across their bedroom.

“The plants could use some attention,” says Crowley, because the gardenias have been getting uppity lately, and the rhododendrons are developing an attitude he simply won’t stand for. “You’ll be busy with that new case of the Milne books, I take it?”

Aziraphale wiggles, pleased. “Ooh, yes. I expect they’ll be a wonderful addition to the collection.”

“Can’t imagine who could’ve ordered them,” says Crowley, as innocent as Eden’s Serpent can be.

“A mystery,” agrees Aziraphale.


End file.
